


The Unholy Trinity

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game), Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 17:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11086161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: Thomas doesn’t trust Teague.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting story from

Thomas doesn’t trust Teague.

Even with his mouth against his, he refuses to let himself trust the priest…

After the Overseers’ invasion, Billie leaving the Whalers with her life, a new High Overseer has taken charge. A process that should have taken months of consideration only took a few weeks. Teague Martin was announced as High Overseer and he wore his red attire a bit _too_ well.

Teague Martin bears a false name. There is no personal story behind the man — or rather, no personal story that he’ll ever share. He never sullies his own hands. He is always two steps ahead of every conversation and he wastes no words with those around him. There is always a purpose behind his actions and it sets Thomas’ nerves on edge.

The Abbey of the Everyman adored their new leader, but the Abbey isn’t the only one who has shown affection to the red-clad priest. Daud has taken an interest and, in turn, so has Thomas. Thomas seeks to know Teague Martin. There are rumors that Teague drenched the Office of the High Overseer’s floors with the blood of those who have wronged him. There are rumors that someone else in red exposed all of those unworthy. They say that the halls were filled with piercing screams and the interrogation room caked thick with blood, sweat, and desperate pleas for a week. Thomas has yet to find a credible source to these scant rumors.

Whenever he seeks out a lead, the lead ends up bizarrely missing. 

That should have been Thomas’ hint for him to stop. 

He should have picked up on the subtle message that someone is watching his actions with great interest. 

The Whaler is blinded by confusion over the fact that Daud, of all people, seems rather taken with the new High Overseer. The others don’t dwell on it, speculating that he is either making a new business alliance or trying to understand a potential threat. _Let Daud handle his own business. He wouldn’t put us in jeopardy_ , they chide at him. Thomas is Daud’s second-in-command. It is _his job_ to double check and silently worry over his leader. 

Thomas is restrained frustration, embarrassment, and surprise when he finally manages to peek in on one of these visits through an air vent in the wall. It’s blocked by some statue of a past High Overseer, Thomas using it as footing to peek through the vent. 

Daud lounges on a love seat, lax and loose, as that ‘potential threat’ sucks dark marks all over his neck. There is a lazy smirk on his lips as he turns his head and murmurs something into the Overseer’s ear. There is laughter shared between them before Martin is straightening up, perched on the Knife of Dunwall’s lap, blocking Thomas’ view of Daud’s face. All he can see is the pale back of Martin’s, Daud’s fingers reverently tracing the man’s spine. 

Thomas leaves red-faced and upset, but not at Daud. He keeps his findings to himself and is thankful for the masks they wear. He tries to see if he can spot any of these marks on Daud’s neck, but the collar of his attire keeps the flesh of his neck covered.    

He swears the irritation brewing in his chest is nothing but concern.                 

Thomas stops by for another ‘meeting’ until it becomes a weekly routine. He’s not sure what he’s trying to gain, but he tells himself that it’s for Daud’s safety does he watch in secret. What if Teague decides to one day harm Daud?  Catch him off guard and slit his throat? Doesn’t Daud understand who he is dealing with? So he watches them tuck themselves into the High Overseer’s quarters, conversing with the other like old friends, bantering and smoking in their little corner of Dunwall. Thomas still can’t will his gaze away when touches linger and the two are digging their teeth into each others skin. His own skin burns and he feels feverish watching the two, always forcing himself to leave before his leader departs. Yet he slinks back towards The Office of the High Overseer each and every time, guilty settling in his usual perch. 

He already has preferences in their interactions. He enjoys listening to that soft, graveled chuckle of Daud’s whenever Teague has his teeth on his neck. He becomes flustered whenever the High Overseer sinks onto his knees between Daud’s legs, that silver tongue tracing engorged veins and sensitive flesh. It doesn’t help when Daud becomes vocal, fingers fisting into Teague’s hair and groaning out profanities. There is a curl of twisted pleasure when Daud kisses Martin, hand against the Overseer’s throat until he’s gasping into the kiss. 

There is always the temptation to touch himself, but he fears he’ll make a noise. He rather not end up caught and these visits come to an end. Thomas knows it’s in poor taste to be doing this, but he feeds this addiction nonetheless. 

To Thomas’ surprise, he doesn’t see Daud in the room when he slides into his usual spot. Frowning, he twists so he can get a better look at Martin’s quarters, but there is no sign of the Knife of Dunwall. The young Whaler swore he saw Daud enter the building… Only Teague occupies the room sans uniform, lounging in a chair and fishing for a cigarette. He couldn’t be wrong —

“I thought you were on patrol in the Flooded District for this week,” a voice issues out with a weary sigh from behind. The Whaler immediately spins around, awkwardly falling off his perch on the statue, barely catching himself. His mask, once held tightly in his hand, falls with a thud on the ground. 

Daud stands before him, pinning him in place with an accusing look. “Am I mistaken?”

“ _Master Daud_ ,” Thomas heaves out, struggling to recompose himself, “No, the patrol is covered. I…I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” It’s a one-dimensional truth and Thomas is embarrassed by it altogether. He swore to himself he’d never keep any secrets from Daud, including the omission of information.

“Following me for weeks seems rather overprotective. Even for you,” the older male returns swiftly. Thomas is silent. Daud takes a step forward, his hands moving behind his back as the corner of his lips curl, a low growl of sound filling the air, “Watching me for weeks. Watching _us_ for weeks. Now that’s something entirely different, _isn’t it_ , _Thomas?_ ” 

Thomas can only imagine the repercussions for his poor behavior.

“My apologies, sir. I didn’t mean any harm. I was only trying to protect…” he begins again, gaining his bearings, but Daud shoots him a withering glare. Thomas closes his mouth for a moment before trying again, “I…originally followed you to ensure you were safe when meeting with the High Overseer. I understood you were safe, but I continued to follow…for personal reasons, sir.” He can feel his own shame burn the flesh of his neck and collarbone a dark red. He fears jeopardizing what trust Daud has in him as his second-in-command. 

Daud is silent, facial features refusing to give any inclination of the response to come. Despite the arcane bond that connects The Whalers to Daud, he finds himself unable to read his leader.

“I should punish you for what you’ve done, Thomas,” the Knife of Dunwall states simply, “But it’d be in poor taste if the other offended party never gets to hear you apologize.” 

Thomas goes rigid, but he doesn’t protest. He nods grimly, picks up his mask, and follows his leader. He misses the smirk playing on the older male’s lips as he’s led into Martin’s quarters. Misses that reassuring arcane bubble of cerebrospinal fluid sitting between his brain and skull. He thinks it to be the coming promise of a headache. 

Teague turns his gaze to them when they enter the room, already giving the younger male an appraising look. Thomas resists the urge to twitch under the evaluating gaze. Teague Martin eyes him as if he’s an item to be bought. Thomas’ mask remains held in his hand, the safety of anonymity feeling unobtainable.

The High Overseer lets the cigarette between his fingers sit in the ashtray, smoke spilling past his lips. He pulls himself up, lips pulled into a smile, “This is your second-in-command?” 

“Yes, but I believe you two already met,” Daud returns and Thomas doesn’t dare ask for clarification on the statement. It was Teague who eliminated all of the leads he was pursuing. He can only wonder if the High Overseer noticed his presence in the room for the past month. Thomas hates to admit that he isn’t embarrassed by being thwarted by the High Overseer. If anything, there is a hybrid form of begrudging respect and heightened interest.

“Only in passing,” Martin hums out. Daud moves over to the dark-haired male’s side, busying himself with removing his own gloves. Teague’s lips curve into something smug as he turns to Daud, “Now what is he here for again? Is he here to thank us or apologize for spying? I don’t quite remember.” 

Daud’s lips are twisting in humor, “Harassing my second-in-command in front of me? Careful, Martin.”

Thomas finds himself reluctantly apologizing, feeling rather foolish. Martin seems pleased by the display and Daud nods in appreciation. They both deem Thomas’ squirming as an adequate form of punishment for his spying. He doesn’t bother shooting them both an exasperated glare when they inform him of such.

Thomas expects to be informed to leave, but instead he’s given a choice: Stay or leave. 

It’s a tempting offer and he understands the professional course of action (one he has failed to take for quite a while) would be to leave. Thomas finds himself moving towards the door and locks it in response. 

Martin gives an impressed smile and moves across the space, mentioning wine. The young Whaler was expecting something instantaneous. Bodies colliding. Fingers tearing at clothes. Lips against flesh. Instead there is only a languid and lax response, Daud finishing Teague’s deteriorating cigarette and Martin offering wine. They converse with the other like any other day, discussing the weather to gently bantering with the other. The only difference is now he’s involved and the willingness they are showing in including him loosens his tongue. Whatever roles they hold seem to be unimportant in this room.

Daud and Martin make it appear effortless the way they converse and, simultaneously, gravitate to the other physically. It’s a subtle sort of transition where it begins with legs pressing against the other to a hand settling on a knee to a palm curved around the back of one’s neck. It’s not spontaneous, but rather a gentle falling into the other. Thomas has seen them tear into the very foundations of each other and their clothes in heated moments of passion or fury. But watching this — this sort of strange form of grace —makes his heart beat in his throat.

Thomas enjoys watching it all play out. It makes a familiar heat resurface and to be so close quickly has his ears red. It only takes minutes before he’s shifting in his seat, yearning to be closer. Should he simply get up and move towards them? Daud, thankfully, takes notice of his second-in-command’s fidgeting. Pulling away from Martin, who looks like the cat that got the cream, Daud makes space between them. 

Thomas instantly is tugging off his gloves and shrugging off his coat. The blond slips in perfectly between them, not quite sure who to touch or what to necessarily do with his limbs. Daud takes the lead, coaxing the youth to relax as he pushes his nose into his neck. Daud smells of cigarette smoke and something pleasantly earthy. He can finally curl himself into the supernatural bond between them both, feeling the touch of the Void between granter and receiver. He can hear its song in his bones when Daud’s marked hand lays against the side of his throat. Callouses and blisters scratch against his skin, the only thing relatively smooth about Daud being his lips. 

Greed has him fidgeting in his spot between the two older men, something impatient and demanding caught in his throat. Daud chuckles, a scratchy sound pleasantly filling the space between them, as he moves his mouth away from Thomas’ jaw and towards his lips. There is that sense of unification and it is filling. His hands gravitate towards his ruthless leader, fingers grabbing onto his thighs for stability. 

There is something rough and earnest in all of Daud’s kisses. Thomas lets him set the pace and Daud will occasionally pull back, inquiring if Thomas is comfortable with this or that, still attentive to those under his care. It’s something that eases the younger male’s nerves and he lets himself become molded by the two bodies next to him.

Daud’s fingers push into his hair, pushing back the hair clinging onto his forehead, kissing his jawline. He pauses when he moves up towards his ear, hand sliding back to almost cradle the back of his skull. It’s a strangely comforting gesture, Thomas closing his eyes. He turns his head to his left, his lips parted rather expectantly. There is an amused ‘hmph’ from the mouth that answers his call. 

Teague’s kisses are far different. His kisses are slow and lurking with something Thomas can’t quite define yet — as if there is a secret hidden underneath the flesh of his lips. Thomas can taste smoke and Daud lingering in his mouth. He gives a surprised sound, muffled in the back of his throat, when the High Overseer slips his tongue into his mouth. It slowly curls in his mouth, brushing against the roof of his mouth, leaving Thomas shuddering at the tickling sensation.

Thomas lets his hands finally reach out and touch the High Overseer. His fingers run over the dark-haired male’s chest over his shirt, feeling hard muscle and fabric against his fingertips. A curl of boldness — or perhaps the sheer hilarity of this entire situation — has him groping blindly for the hem of the man’s shirt. He lets his fingers wiggle underneath the piece of clothing, letting flesh touch flesh. He can feel the soft ridges of scars against his abdomen and the trail of hair underneath that disappears into the man’s pants. His fingers hesitate, not quite sure what to do next. Not sure if he’s ready to jump further into this so early in the game. 

Out of habit he pulls away, refilling his lungs, and seeks out Daud for direction. There is a soft chuckle, breathless around the edges, coming from Teague. 

“Do you always ask ‘ _Master Daud_ ’ for permission — ?” the High Overseer taunts before there is a sharp hiss of pain leaving his mouth. Thomas isn’t sure if he is reacting to defend Daud or himself, his fingers tightly holding onto Martin’s side as his teeth latch onto the Overseer’s bottom lip. 

He can taste blood on his tongue and there is a groan leaving Thomas’ throat. When he does relinquish Teague’s bottom lip, it’s already a dark red and swelling at the abuse. Teague tongues it with an intrigued look on his features, not quite sure if he wants to reprimand the blond or see if there is more. There is a satisfactory hum from the High Overseer instead. Thomas can’t help but feel as if he’s gain some sort of approval. Martin takes his bottom lip in to suck on it, before issuing out lowly, “Or maybe I should be the one asking you for permission.”

Thomas swallows thickly at the images already flashing in his head, fingers leaving bruises on Teague’s skin as heat curls deep in his groin. 

Teague smiles as if he beat the blond in some grand game and leans over to press his mouth once more against his lips. Even with his mouth against his, Thomas refuses to let himself trust the priest. Teague knows, smile twisting into a smirk.

The High Overseer is certain he can change that. 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com
> 
> [Story reposted from Tumblr onto Ao3. Original in link.](http://carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com/post/122322365548/daudthomasmartin-part-1-thomas-trusts-teague)

Thomas trusts Teague.

Even with a pistol pressed against his forehead, he trusts Teague.

Thomas found himself caught by the Overseers when he was making a run. The music boxes had him sinking to his knees, eardrums rupturing until there was nothing but a swan song playing in his ears. They kicked him while he was down, calmly reciting Strictures and repeating sermons given as they rip his mask off. By the time they finished with him he’s sore, his nose possibly broken and head swimming.

Dragged to the Office of the High Overseer, he knows they’re going to kill him. Whether Martin is present in the Office is up in the air and whether the High Overseer even gets word of heretics being punished is unknown to Thomas. He contemplates the capsule in his coat’s front pocket that are meant for these situations. It won’t be hard to pick at the pocket with his teeth and pull it into his mouth. Thomas isn’t sure if he’s ready to die and the thought instantly brings his already ruddy cheeks a deeper shade of red. He’s embarrassed at his own reluctance.

Fortunately, Thomas’ two questions are answered by the end of the hour.

It’s luck that has Martin striding in, composed even as he notices who is sitting in the interrogation chair. Thomas is surprised to feel relief washing over him, even as Martin pulls his pistol out and presses it against his forehead. The High Overseer is calmly informing the two Overseers that if they ever bring in someone for interrogation without his approval, he will make sure to put them out of their misery as he will for the Whaler due to failing to follow protocol. The High Overseer should be the first to know of a heretic being brought within the Office and determine how the heretic is… _persuaded_ to speak. Bruising and beating the heretic without permission is out of the question. The Overseers all but babble their apologies before they’re promptly informed to leave.

Martin puts the pistol away, fixing Thomas with that long, suffering look of his that states he is far from pleased.

“Is that true? They need your permission to interrogate a ‘ _heretic?_ ’” Thomas breaks the silence, voice rough and face feeling sore.

Teague sighs softly, a quick smile sliding and falling on his lips, “No. Sounds official, yes?” Thomas stares incredulously at the High Overseer.

Despite Thomas’ lame plea for him to be allowed to head back to the hideout, Martin informs him a bath is needed. He won’t leave without at least cleaning up. The Whaler is secretly glad and doesn’t protest any further as he slumps into one of Martin’s chairs. He watches the High Overseer ferry hot kettles of water to the tub and Thomas doesn’t know why that coaxes a warm smile onto his lips.

Daud arrives as Martin finishes cleaning off the crusted blood off of his face with a wet cloth. Thomas isn’t even sure how Daud knew to arrive. Perhaps it’s coincidence, or just one of those strange mysteries when it comes to Daud and Martin. The bath is too hot to step into, so the Overseer has been busying himself tending to the more visible wounds. Daud’s hand is hot on his hip, eyeing every bruise and scratch, shooting a dangerous look at Martin. Martin just nods and assures Daud with a, “I’ll handle it.”

**_x x x_ **

The Overseers have done a number on him, patches of Thomas’ skin have already begun to pitch deeper into darker hues. The three of them have managed to slip into the overly large bathtub, the water becoming a little pinkish thanks to Thomas.

Martin dips his head forward, situated behind Thomas, his lips brushing against the nape of his neck. He’s sucking sweeter bruises onto Thomas’ skin, his mouth finding the space between the ugly welts and marks between his shoulder blades. The younger male leans into the touch, sighing as he feels warm fingers massage the knots in his lower back. Thomas is nestled between the two older men, practically sitting on their stretched out thighs, legs overlapping the others. Daud’s brows are furrowed as he eyes every offensive mark on Thomas’ skin, calloused fingers grazing over them all. Thomas can only reflect on how surreal it is to simply have Daud’s hands bare and on his flesh, eyes watching with greed those hands treat him with care.

There is only the wet catch of air in his throat occupying the air when he feels hands drifting lower. Maybe both the High Overseer and the Knife of Dunwall looked at the other before their hands moved downward in perfect synchronization. It doesn’t matter, Thomas is equally caught off guard, his heart lurching up into his throat in heady anticipation. Daud’s fingers are running across the inseam of his pelvis, his other hand settling high up on his thigh. The High Overseer’s hand has dipped even lower, fingers searchingly and lackadaisically massaging that tight ring of muscles. Immediately he tenses at the potential intrusion, but there are still lips on his back and Daud is a warm, comforting presence. It doesn’t take long before Thomas is taking a steady breath, body relaxing once more between the two bodies.

It’s strange to be the focal point, pampered and spoiled by the two. He has always been content watching them, feeling them touch him one at a time and vice versa. With this changeup he can’t help but imagine what’s to come, his cock already attentive. Sometimes Daud’s knuckles will brush against it and it takes a bit of willpower not to greedily roll his hips upward for attention. Martin is attentive, however, actually humoring him with teeth that are now nipping at the bruises he has created. Each little nip is a subtle distractor, muting the sting of the High Overseer pushing a digit in. He’s slow and careful, only slides a little further when Thomas relaxes once more.

Martin’s doing something different — _hell,_ all of this is different and he’s not sure when he moved his hands to hold onto Daud. He can feel the pad of the man’s finger rubbing into the tight band of muscles and it makes him hungrily push back. There is a low chuckle from the Overseer and a hand against his back keeping him in place. Thomas refuses to address the heat burning in his cheeks.

By the time Martin pushes further, Thomas has already boldly shoved his mouth against Daud’s. His nose screams with pain when it pushes into Daud’s and the assassin is quick to remedy it. A rough hand keeps Thomas’ head slightly tilted, their noses now missing the other. The older man tastes like smoke and Martin’s favorite brand of brandy. The Whaler can feel his grin against his lips when he presses his lips insistently into Daud’s. A few cuts burn, torn flesh on his bottom lip throbbing, but Daud is quick to clean it up with the swipe of a tongue. Thomas can’t help but finally return that grin, breathless and wide, still in awe that he’s kissing his leader. That he can continue to touch and explore Daud like this.

The Knife of Dunwall licks the inside of his mouth, tongue running across his teeth and almost tickling the roof of his mouth. Thomas finds it helpful in him becoming accustomed to Martin’s motions, the priest carefully stretching him out and in no apparent rush. It drives Thomas mad, busying himself with Daud’s mouth, but even Daud teases him so. He hates the hand that lingers on his pelvis, purposely neglecting him, quite content rubbing the inseam where thigh and pelvis meet.

It was Thomas’ idea to pile them into the tub, believe it or not. Martin was content scrubbing him down from the side along with Daud, but Thomas suggested otherwise. The two older men both looked pleasantly surprised, quietly inquired as to his injuries, only to find Thomas hastily assuring him he’s fine. They have been treating him with care, minding all his bumps and bruises. They continue to keep on asking him if he’s doing okay and if they’re going to fast. Thomas can’t help but find it endearing, relaxing further into their ministrations. Boldness pays off and those two give him an unhealthy dosage of it.

Martin’s finger finally leaves and Thomas turns his head in question, only to be answered with a kiss on the corner of the mouth. “Don’t worry, we’re not finished,” Martin grins, sharp teeth and all. Martin’s hair has curled in the humidity of the bathroom and there’s a nice flush of color on his neck and cheeks. The High Overseer leans closer against Thomas, his chest molding against Thomas’ back. He’s sitting more in Martin’s lap now, the priest’s nose  pressing into his neck as hands carefully adjust his position. He leans  further against Teague, water sloshing about, as Daud moves closer between their legs. Martin curls an arm around Thomas’ chest, keeping him in place.  

Daud’s hand is no longer sitting idly about. It’s sliding underneath him, taking the spot of Martin’s finger. Daud’s middle finger slips in easily, the older assassin rumbling out _‘good boy’_ once the finger is knuckle deep. Thomas is certain his entire body is now red, staring at Daud with wide eyes. There is a hitched sound in the back of his throat when Daud curls his finger, rubbing the pad of his finger against him —

_“F-Fuck,_ ” Thomas is hissing out, toes curling and knees popping further out of the water when Daud rubs against _something_ sweet. It feels like a burst of heat, body trembling for a moment before Daud is rubbing at the spot again. The pressure is light, feeling the pad of his finger almost move in clockwise circles against that sweet spot, but it’s enough for his skin to turn darker shades of red. He can already feel his brows begin to collect sweat as that finger teases him, not nearly giving him enough. An experimental lift of his hips has Daud’s finger pushing against that spot, a punched out groan leaving him.

_“P-Please, Master Daud,_ ” comes slipping out before Thomas can catch himself and Daud all but smirks. Teague nips at the tip of his right ear, laughing and teasing him. The assassin curls his finger, continues to rub and stroke the Whaler’s prostate. He can feel that heat bubbling in his groin, closing his eyes and sinking into Martin, ready for the sensation to overtake him. Instead he finds it coiled back, warm fingers lightly squeezing the head of his cock.

_Martin,_ comes the accusatory thought.

Daud’s touches have become too light and he gives a complaining sound. “Hold on… Wait,” Daud instructs and Thomas grits his teeth, feeling his arousal begin to slowly subside before Martin is releasing his hold. Fingers stroke his cock, twisting whenever they reach the tip, as Daud returns to massaging that sweet spot. Thomas is trying to thrust into Martin’s hand, groaning in encouragement. Heady noises continue to leave his mouth, his hips beginning to tremble. Whenever he gets close, when he feels as if he’s going to reach that peak, Martin is quick to put it on pause, anchoring him back to reality until Thomas is practically squirming and begging. Martin teases him, bribes him to call him _‘master_ ’ just as he does to Daud. Thomas eagerly gives in.

Each time the heat is more blinding, his hands now digging into Martin’s thighs next to him. When he’s finally allowed to ride the sensation out, he comes with a loud cry, body shaking violently. Martin is quick to press kisses into the back of his head and Daud is swiping the spilled blood oozing out of Thomas’ bottom lip. The Whaler just sags into the Overseer, remembering to breathe.

“You ready for more or do you want to rest?” Daud inquires.

Thomas nods his head before he’s clearing his throat, “More.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
